


Little Moments

by Tuesdayschildd



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Babies, Christmas fun, Cookies, Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Multi, Pregnancy, Puppies, Santa Suits, Smut, Snowball Fights, We don’t have enough varchie, oneshots, reindeer games, sweets, varchie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:38:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tuesdayschildd/pseuds/Tuesdayschildd
Summary: A collection of Varchie centered one shots, drabbles, requests, moments....each stands on its own.





	1. Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request by @palemakerpieperson on Tumblr

Not even two seconds since crossing the threshold and the room is tipped upside down as Archie throws her over his shoulder. She laughs, smacking her fists against his backside in mock protest.

 

“Put me down, you heathen! I can walk!”

 

“Not fast enough,” he responds, clamoring up the steps, the room shaking in and out of focus.

 

The familiar Andrews home fills her senses, the sandalwood smell in her nose, the old floral wallpaper brushing past her hands as she tries to help Archie center them on the stairs, the worn down carpet in the hall where she imagines a little Archie running back and forth all day with Vegas.

 

And Vegas himself, who is following right behind them up the steps, his cold nose brushing against her face attempting to give her kisses, thinking this is some game for him to partake in, too.

 

“Vegas, no. Shoo! Shoo!” She tries to push the persistent animal away as they finally make it onto the landing and in to Archie’s bedroom.

 

She’s plopped on the unmade bed in the next moment before Archie kicks the door closed behind him, shutting out his dog.

 

Her lover’s T-shirt is over his head, his eyes disappearing beneath it, and then he’s following her onto the bed, kicking off his sneakers in the process.

 

“Today felt like it went on forever, Ronnie,” he groans, settling himself down at the end, grabbing onto her calves. He slips off her Valentino pumps, one by one, with a kiss to the sole of each foot. “I spent all last period thinking about you before the bell rang.”

 

She reaches for him, but he dodges her, refusing to come up the bed further.

 

Punctuating his words with kisses up her stocking covered leg, he adds, “I wanted you...” Lips on her ankle. “Since I saw you...” Lips on her calf. “In the hall....” Lips on her knee. “This morning.”

 

“No...” He adds, pausing at the apex of her nude stocking and flips the garter open, no longer a novice to women’s intimates. “Since I woke up.”

 

Her manicured hands can finally reach him, diving into his hair, maroon nails scratching against his scalp as his face disappears under her plaid skirt. “Oh, Archiekins. It’s been too long.” But then his nose brushes a ticklish spot on her hip bone and she’s squealing.

 

Her skirt blocks his grin as his fingers start to sweep over her sides, eliciting more giggles, the sound of her laughter like joy and sunshine in his ears.

 

“Stop! Stop! I hate being tickled!” She kicks half heartedly as he continues his assault, his touch becoming more sensual as he starts to mouth over the edge of her lace panties and his fingers dig into her backside.

 

The muscles in his back ripple pleasantly. Closing her eyes, she lets his touch dominant her focus.

 

She’s lost in his never ending delight for a few minutes, in which more of both of their clothes find their way across the floor and their bodies meet.

 

Her face is tucked into his sweaty neck, his weight heavy on her, when she gets an odd feeling like they’re being watched.

 

Afraid Mr. Andrews has caught them again, her eyes blow open to take in the room. Instead she finds Vegas, sitting calmly on his backside next to the bed, proud beady eyes locked on them with her Agent Provocateur garter belt dangling out of his slobbering mouth.

 

“Vegas! No!” She pushes up against Archie at the same time he shifts to look up, their heads smacking together with a thud that rattles her brain.

 

Clutching her head she collapses back onto the bed while Archie reaches over to Vegas in attempt to save her lace.

 

“Drop it, Vegas! Drop it!”

 

Veronica doesn’t see what happens next as her eyes are still closed, but suddenly Archie is spread eagled on the floor and Vegas in spinning in circles when she looks up again, his prize still tight in his jaw.

 

“Archie, forget it. I’m not going to wear that ever again anyway.” Rolling to face them, she pulls the sheet up to cover herself, feeling oddly shy in front of the dog.

 

“Do you want to go for a walk, Vegas?” The magic words have the garter falling to the floor and Vegas wiggling with excitement, his tail thumping against the desk. “Go get the leash!” The blonde pooch turns and runs out the door in a sea of fur, Archie quickly getting up to shut it again, locking it this time.

 

He’s literally jumping back onto her, covering her face with kisses like his furry pet had previously.

 

“Is your head okay?” He’s asking, searching for signs of pain in her chocolate eyes. Finding nothing but amusement there, he doesn’t wait for an answer before diving back onto her neck.

 

“I’m fine. Thank you for saving my lingerie.” Gripping his head between her hands, she brings his pink swollen lips to hers, any trace of her lip rouge already gone. “My hero.” The kiss is sweet and tender as he shifts back beneath the sheet and between her legs, just enjoying the feeling of their mouths pressed together, noses squished against each other.

 

She’s flipping them suddenly, having spent more than enough time appeasing him on her back, taking over control, and the kiss turns more hurried. His bottom lip becomes trapped between her teeth, eliciting a groan as he reaches up to steady her hips on his.

 

The friction isn’t enough to help the heat low in her belly. Her hips start to swivel and she leans to press her bare chest against his. Just as she drags her mouth down his jawline to find his earlobe, his fingers digging into her backside again, there’s a scratching at the door.

 

She ignores it, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh and worrying it for a moment. One of his hands comes up to clutch at the back of her head and she’s moving down his neck, enjoying the feeling of his rough fingers brushing through her hair.

 

The whining starts, the chain of the leash hitting the door with a muffled clang.

 

Sighing, she sits up. “As much as I’m open to exhibitionism, or whatever this is, this isn’t happening. I can’t concentrate.”

 

Archie’s eyebrows come together as a pout appears, his hands caressing her thighs encouragingly. “He’ll leave in a minute. Come on, just don’t think about it.”

 

One perfect eyebrow rises in response. “Archie Andrews, you’re a liar and you know it.”

 

It’s his turn to sigh. “I’ll just....take him for a walk around the block quick. I’ll be back in five minutes.” His hopeful eyes look up at her, his hair messy and lips swollen from her kisses, and she can’t help the laugh that escapes her chest.

 

Leaning down to capture his lips again, she pulls away slightly leaving a breath between them.

 

“I’ll give you three. And I’m not stopping while you’re gone.”

 

The air leaves her lungs as she’s flipped backwards, bouncing as her back hits the mattress.

 

He’s up and out the door, his jeans clutched in his hands, before she can blink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Work

The air was stifling but frigid at the same time. Her hand was stiff from being stuck on the computer mouse all morning and the AC in her small office was pouring down like a dry waterfall, suffocating her.

 

Unanswered memos dotted her screen like pox and another email came in with a shrill beep, causing her heart to transiently quicken.

 

Her phone, unfortunately, remained silent.

 

Her nails of her left hand continued to scratch at her skirt, maroon polish uncharacteristically chipped. The voices of the secretaries and paralegals filtered down the hallway and under her office door which, though usually open, sat closed.

 

Her secretary had called out sick earlier this week, and the temp agency had yet to find her a sub. Which was fine. More distraction from the mounting paperwork at her desk.

 

It was 2 pm, but she had yet to eat, and her morning coffee sat untouched to her left.

 

Her cellphone lit up silently with another text from her husband. Anything yet?

 

She had been forced to silence the messages as each one had sent her heart racing every time the phone went off all morning, only to be both disappointed and relieved when she saw it was just him checking in, yet again.

 

She sent off a quick reply Not yet as if they hadn’t had the exact exchange a dozen times already today.

 

Returning to her inbox she estimated she could return a half dozen emails before her 2:30 showed. Make a small dent in the growing queue.

 

But then suddenly her phone was vibrating across the desk. It took a second to process the ringing noise and another to process that it was in fact a call coming in.

 

Her hand shook as she picked it up and it took 3 swipes of her cold hand before she could unlock the screen.

 

“Hello? This is Veronica Lodge”

 

“Ms. Lodge? This is Eileen from Dr Alston’s office calling with your test results.”

 

Her stomach bottomed out.Here it was. Finally.

 

She heard only the first part of the response from the nurse or aid or whoever she was. Just the key words sinking in. And that her doctor would see her again in 2 weeks at her next regular appointment.

 

“Ms. Lodge are you still there?”

 

Oh, right, have to speak.

 

“Yes, thank you, Eileen was it? I’ll be there in 2 weeks.”

 

“Okay, great. We’ll see you then. Any more trouble in the mean time, just give us a call, any time day or night.”

 

“Thank you. See you then.”

 

She dropped the phone to the desk with a clatter, but quickly picked it up again to text her husband.

 

They just called, meet me outside?

 

Typing bubbles immediately appeared followed quickly by be there in 2.

 

She got up quickly and grabbed her purse off the desk, forgetting her phone. She was across to the door and down the hall, before the tears in her eyes started.

 

She took the stairs to avoid potential conversations. Down two flights and out the side exit. She could see him already there on the sidewalk, walking, almost running towards her, like out of a dream. What did she do in a past life to end up working on the same block as her husband in fricken New York City, she had no idea.

 

She took a few steps and stopped, letting him close the gap between them. He had left his blazer behind, his neck tie loosened in the afternoon after his big industry meeting this morning.

 

He had also taken the stairs, but where she had 2, he had 6, and he was panting, obviously having taken them at a sprint. His red hair was pushed back from his forehead, likely had been running his hand through it all morning.

 

He stopped short in front of her, a desperate look in his eyes. “Tell me you’re okay.”

 

Her tears started to spill over and his eyes became more concerned, darting back between and forth at hers.

 

She took a deep breath. “I’m okay. They’re okay.”

 

“Oh, thank god.”

 

His arms enveloped her, and the smell of his cologne and their laundry detergent immediately calmed her racing heart.

 

He kissed her head and then her lips quickly when she bent her head back, staring up at him. She was sans heels these day with the swelling in her feet, a small price to pay.

 

He dropped his hands to her swollen belly and smiled wide. “I was so worried. I couldn’t concentrate at all today.”

 

She sighed contently, shifting her purse up to her shoulder and resting her hands on top of his.

 

“Your babies and I are okay,” she reaffirmed. “Everything is perfect.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Beach Day

The sun on her skin felt like heaven and hell, joyful and devilish all at once. Despite the beach games behind her, the roar of the ocean drowned out the crowds like a white noise machine. The shrill whistle of the lifeguard a few hundred feet down was the only noise to break through the oasis, alerting the swimmers too far out in the water to come in closer.

 

Layla sat in front of her on the sand, her tiny pink bikini covered in sand, her wavy red hair escaping from the braids Veronica had attempted earlier that morning. Small buckets of water and ocean water surrounded her, a small shovel clutched in her fist. Veronica admired her beautiful progeny, who was singing to some silent melody, tiny eyebrows scrunched together as she concentrated on building her sand castle. Their daughter was beautiful and smart, a perfect combination of her parents in mind and body, independent and fierce, yet kind and caring. They had tried so hard as parents not to spoil their children, to teach them that respect must be earned and that their lifestyle wasn’t a certainty, but a gift. Her children were polite and gracious, her and Archie’s entire world. Watching her daughter place her seashells along her castle, Veronica wanted for nothing, content in their perfect bubble of happiness.

 

Archie and James were tossing a football down by the water. At 8 years old, their son was the spitting image of his father in every way except for his raven colored hair. She watched as he passed the ball to his father, Archie jumping to catch it and landing sideways in a wave, James laughing as his dad recovered with ball in tow.Their son had been a surprise a few months into their marriage. She was afraid of the kind of mother she would be and fretted through most of the pregnancy. With little example of how to be a good parent, she was fearful of screwing up their kids in unmanageable ways. But Archie was always sure, so positive that they would be amazing parents- he was a dream father, supporting her during pregnancy, taking his share of late night awakenings and diaper changes. She fell in love with him all over again watching him read to James at bedtime, seeing his face when the baby first smiled, talked, walked.

 

And all over again with their daughter. Her heart grew every day in ways she couldn’t imagine. People say that kids will change your relationship, enjoy it while you can. But she would never choose to go back to the way it as when it was just the two of them. She would never trade anything for the 4 of them together.

 

Soon to be 5, she added, hands brushing over her swollen belly. She closed her eyes, content in the sun rays again, listening to the waves break on the sand and soft murmurs of her daughter’s voice singing near her feet.

 

“Mama, can we come to the beach again soon?”

 

“Absolutely, baby. Absolutely.”

 


	4. Bowling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from @palemakerpieperson

There are monkeys on her socks. Fricken monkeys.

 

The scent of disinfectant is stifling and the grimy carpet probably hasn’t been steamed cleaned _ever_. Noises she’s only heard in movies dominate the space, rolling balls and clashes between pins, with muffled conversation beneath it all.

 

The monkeys are mocking her, Betty’s pair, slipped into her hand by her best friend when they handed her these..... shoes..... she’s meant to slip on her feet.

 

There’s an air of nervousness about her being in this place the others seem so comfortable in. She’s trying so hard not to make a single comment about anything lest she give Jughead an excuse to berate her for it.

 

Archie’s tying her laces like she’s a child. While she isn’t saying it out loud, her face is speaking volumes about her distaste at the state of her feet shoved into these sorry excuses for shoes, _used_ shoes, and she’s trying not to think about all the other feet that have been in them. But he catches sight of her face and leans over to kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear, “Just give it a chance.”

 

His grin warms her up a bit and she wants to try for him.

 

Betty claps her hands together as she finishes entering their names on the score board. “I’ll go first!”

 

——-

 

“How the hell are you so good at this Lodge?” Jughead is dumbfounded, watching the raven beauty nail her 5th strike in a row while shoveling French fries in his mouth.

 

“Hand eye coordination, Jones,” she’s smirking as she takes her seat after another little victory spin, her skirt fanning out around her. Archie is leaning back on the bench, a giant grin permanently stuck on his face since they started and his girl began kicking all their asses.

 

“V’s found her hidden talent, Jug,” Betty adds, looking pleased as well, vibrating with excitement since they walked in the door for their double date. “It’s your turn.”

 

“I should just give up now, I’m down 50 points.”

 

“Don’t you deny me this win, Jughead. We’re playing it through,” Veronica says, motioning him up to take his turn. Betty jumps in to give her boyfriend some pointers when he approaches the lane while Veronica turns to hers.

 

Archie’s been quiet, his arm resting over the back of the bench, fingers brushing her shoulder. “Penny for you thoughts, lover boy.”

 

His smile is infectious and she finds herself mirroring it. “I’m just happy you gave this a chance. You make me so happy.”

 

She beams at his words, leaning up to kiss his cheek, letting her lips linger for a moment. “Anything for my Archiekins. But don’t forget our deal,” she adds coyly. She can feel the warmth coming off his skin at the proximity of their faces, his delight palpable.

 

Jughead’s groan is loud as his second ball misses the pins. “How am I losing?”

 

“It’s okay, Juggie. You just need some practice,” Betty says as he flops down next to her, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Have some more fries.”

 

“I know, Ronnie,” Archie whispers in a low voice, eyes twinkling. “I’ll watch 300 with you. Naked.”

 

He presses his lips to her’s quickly on his way up to take his turn, adding quietly, “But let me kick Jughead’s butt first.”

 


	5. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm ruins football practice for the bulldogs, leading to an eye full of the Vixens show down in the gym. Prompt from @palemakerpieperson on tumblr

The dark clouds broke open without warning in the middle of a play, soaking the field in a matter of seconds.Archie tried to spot his target though the downpour, arm at the ready to launch the ball, fingers slipping, but he could hardly see Moose five feet in front of him let alone a receiver twenty yards away. The yellow and blue shapes of his guys were dropping into the mud in front of him like flies as they slipped and slid, laughter overtaking the usual grunts and shouts of the players during practice.

 

The shrill whistle broke though the chaos, followed by “Bulldogs! Bring it in! We’re calling it!”

 

They rushed to drag the equipment under the safety of the canopy, rain washing most of the mud off of them in the process, with a few friendly pushes and shoves leaving some still dirty. Reggie managed to bring Moose down to the ground when his back was turned and the pair of them was covered again, head to toe, laughing their asses off as Archie helped them up.

 

“Hit the showers, boys!” Coach Clayton shouted through the storm, as the last of the equipment was sheltered and evening practice was officially lost. They had gotten a few plays down in the short time, but would have to extend tomorrow’s practice to make up the lost time given they had a game coming up.

 

The warm stagnant air of the hallway hit him in the face once the door opened and the players piled through. They stunk up the space with sweat and dirt, a few politely trying to keep the mud tracks to a minimum, but a lost cause. The bass of a beat was growing louder as they continued down the long hall towards the locker rooms, punctuated with short encouraging yells and claps. The gym doors were propped open, the music now pouring out of the space like the front doors of a club.

 

Like sirens, the River Vixens cheers and claps drew Archie in to their practice space. The majority of the girls were lined up and down the edge of the gym, shouting words of encouragements and cat calling, while two others were center court, dancing their hearts out.

 

Archie was unsurprised to find his raven haired beauty was one of them, dipping her hips and shaking her ass like she was born to dance, white shirt and yellow practice shorts hugging her curves, all the while a look on her face like she knew damn well how beautiful she looked. The only reason he knew the other vixen was Cheryl was because of the long red hair that would slide across his view of his girlfriend intermittently. He was unable to take his eyes off his girl as she swayed and dipped.

 

Evidently, the rest of the bulldogs appreciated the performance as well- the lot of them had crowded around him where he had stopped at the edge of the court hypnotized, loud as always, now directing the focus of their banter towards the girls.

 

“What do we have here?”

 

“I’ll take that Cherry bomb!”

 

“Where’s my milkshake?”

 

“Shake that ass, Lodge! How about a private performance?”

 

The last comment drew him out of the spell, had his head whipping toward the speaker, a freshman new to the team. Archie had his blue jersey clenched in his tight fist before the kid could blink.

 

“Woah, woah, woah, man. Chill out,” the kid pleaded, hands up in retreat, eyes shocked at his normally relaxed captain’s angry face.

 

“You keep your mouth shut about her, Townsend,” Archie snarled, red faced.

 

“Sorry, captain..... I... I forgot she was your girlfriend for a second. It won’t happen again.” Archie released him with a little shove, watching as he stumbled back into the others.

 

“Aw Andrews, give the kid a break. You’re ruining our fun,” Reggie slapped him on the shoulder with an extra shake to try to loosen him up. “He’s harmless. V doesn’t need you to protect her from every fly.”

 

He shrugged Reggie off, still annoyed with them all. “Hit the showers, team. Now!”

 

They groaned and mumbled a bit, but retreated back into the hall leaving him alone in the corner of the room, Reggie slapping him on the back again before following the rest. The girls were still dancing, unperturbed by the incident if they had even noticed, the look of determination having grown on their faces in the interim. He watched as his girl swung her head around and turned to the floor, rolling once and finishing with a pose, knee propped up and head back. She was a vision.

 

The vixens applauded with the big finish and he watched as Veronica got up off the floor, the anger leaving him as her eyes found his across the room. His shoulders relaxed.

 

“Your bulldog is here, V.” He heard Ginger say as Veronica jogged towards him, a huge smile on her face, with her eyebrows rising up in shock as she got closer.

 

“Hi, handsome,” she said, stopping a foot away from him, eyeing him up and down, taking in her drenched boyfriend in full padding, mud smeared across his arms, hands, and uniform. “That’s an interesting look.”

 

“This is a CLOSED practice! Please leave,” Cheryl’s voice called after them.

 

Veronica rolled her eyes and motioned her head towards the hallway as she started out. “Someone must have pissed in her Cheerios this morning. She’s challenging everyone to a dance off and is snapping at everything,” she said as she turned back to him once they were out of sight. “I’d ask how your practice is going, but I can guess.”

 

He chuckled, “We thought the storm might blow over, but we were wrong. Can’t even do drills in it now, it’s so bad.”

 

“So you guys thought you’d come in and watch us for some entertainment instead?” She asked, crossing her arms and raising her chin. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the scuffle you had.”

 

His hand came up to scratch his neck out of embarrassment leaving a trail of dirt along its path. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I don’t want people disrespecting you like that, and I don’t like when they’re ogling you either.”

 

“Ogling?” She laughs. “Is that what they were doing? You don’t have to worry about me, Archie. I can take care of myself.” She stepped closer like she suddenly didn’t care he was a mess when his face got all apologetic like that and put her cold hands on his jaw. “And I only have eyes for one bulldog.”

 

He grinned, the smile all the way up to his eyes and leaned down to kiss her, but she bent backwards away from his searching lips. “Oh no, absolutely not. You’re a mess.”

 

“But I’m your mess, remember?” He caught her around the waist with his dirty hands and bent down towards her further, but she laughed and squirmed and he couldn’t catch her mouth. “Why won’t you kiss me, Veronica? Huh? Pretty please?” Flipping around in his arms, she used her height to her advantage to hide her face from his, her white practice shirt tracked with mud where his hands had been at her sides. His lips finally caught her neck and he growled into it as she squealed, arms coming around her abdomen to hug her from behind.

 

“Archie Andrews, you’re incorrigible.” She laughed as he continued to leave wet trails down her skin.

 

“And you’re sweaty.” He mumbled into her shoulder before finally capturing her face and turning it towards him, successfully planting one on her lips.

 

She leaned back into his solid chest, as she gave into his demanding mouth, never able to deny him once he got his hypnotizing lips on her. His jersey soaked through the back of her shirt, mud tracked across her midsection and now the side of her cheek.

 

He got lost in her small mouth, her determined tongue invading his, sending shivers down his spine. The muscles in her belly clenched under his hands and he turned her fully to face him, pushing her back against the wall, keeping her there with the pressure from his pelvis.

 

She pulled away and his lips immediately returned to her neck like a magnet, his arms blocking her into the wall. “Mmm, Archie. I have to go back to practice,” she mumbled breathlessly. His hands were traveling, one now clutching her breast through her shirt, the other on her ass, gripping like he had the football just minutes ago. With just a tinge of possessiveness still lingering in his blood, he sucked hard at her shoulder for a second before he was being shoved away from her.

 

“Archiekins, no marks!” She said trying to sound annoyed, but the small smirk on her mouth had him grinning again, as did the mud on the side of her cheek and the handprint on her chest.

 

“Ronnie, you can’t go back to practice like that,” he laughed, towering back over her, so short in her sneakers.

 

“Like what?” She questioned, staring down at herself, eyeing the mud over her chest and belly, twisting around to catch the handprint on her butt. The mud on her face had him laughing again, a stark contrast to her perfect hair and skim, making her look adorable and delectable at the same time.

 

“Ugh, now Cheryl is really going to be a bitch. There’s still a whole hour left. I guess I’ll just have to shower first.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Archie pushed his pelvis back into hers, knocking her back against the solid wall again as her wide eyes met his again. Leaning down to her wet lips, he mumbled into them, “Can I join?”

 

—-

 

Soaked in sweat and muscles sore, the vixens poured out of the gym after Cheryl finally gave into their pleas for mercy, groaning as they started down towards the locker room, towels and water bottles in tow. Ginger stopped in her tracks, Tina running into her back at the abruptness, almost making her drop the speakers in her hand. They both eyed the wall, staring curiously at the perfect muddy handprints 6 feet off the ground.

 

“What the hell?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica tries to relax.

The muscles in her back unclenched themselves as she sank deeper into the tub, the steam rising up over the water surface like a mirage over a desert road. Her leg stretched to reach the tap, turning it off with her toes once the water was high enough, floating her arms out at her sides as she felt the tension starting to leave her body.    
  
“MOM!”   
  
She scrunched her eyes closed, waiting to see if her husband could quiet his offspring quickly.    
  
“MOM! Where’s my jersey?” Her son’s voice carried through her en suite, though no doubt he was yelling from the hallway.   
  
“James, your mother is taking a bath! Leave her alone!” Archie’s voice called out after his son, coming through the walls from his studio next door. Soundproofing was high on the to-do list.    
  
Her tongue ran across the front of her teeth as she tried to redirect her mind into the peace she was headed towards prior to the interruption. Her work day had been hectic, too many emails to return, the list increasing instead of decreasing, and she needed a half hour of peace to herself. She left strict instructions with her husband not to let his children disturb her whilst she tried to relax.   
  
“Mommy?” A quieter, softer voice closer to the door this time interrupted, “Mommy, can I come in?”    
  
Her head fell back against the tube edge as she suppressed a laugh, silly of her to think she could find even five minutes alone.    
  
“What’s the matter, Sonya?”    
  
“Umm, I just.... I just want to tell you something,” the little voice replied quietly, trying not to let her father hear her disobeying his instructions.   
  
But the tiny voice always kicked her right in the chest and she could never stay upset with her long. Instead of scolding, she asked, “What’s that pumpkin?”   
  
“Uhhh... I need to ask you a question.”   
  
“Go ahead.”   
  
She heard a shuffle and then her daughter’s voice slightly louder, projecting now from the ground up, the poor child obviously trying to talk to her through the gap under the door.   
  
“Mommy, can I come in?”   
  
Veronica laughed outwardly again, with a slight groan to herself.   
  
“You can ask your question from out there, little one.”   
  
The handle jiggled, a small disappointed noise following after finding it locked, and her daughter tried a different tactic.   
  
“I miss you, Mommy. Could you come out now?” Her voice must have carried to the hall as in the next few seconds Archie’s voice joined the mix.   
  
“Sonya, what did I tell you? Mommy needs some quiet time. Come back to the studio and draw me a picture.” Veronica heard him coming closer to the door as he spoke, heard a squeal from their baby girl as she quietly protested his scooping her up, “Wait, get Mr Hippo!” and proceeding back towards the exit with her.   
  
“I just want to tell her I miss her,” Veronica heard her youngest say as they left, with a sad intonation that only a child could manage.   
  
Ten more minutes. Just ten more and she’d be satisfied. She didn’t even light any candles this time, as the last bath she attempted wasn’t five minutes before disaster struck in the form of a kid’s twisted ankle and a loose tooth.    
  
She got half her wish. Five minutes, until a short knock and a different voice interrupted. “Mom, can I borrow your burgundy Manolo’s? The ones with the buckles?”   
  
Now, that got her fired up. “And where do you think you’d be going in those, young lady?” She asked her oldest daughter, tone part annoyed and part curious.    
  
“Marcus is having some people over tonight. Dad said I could go.”   
__   
Oh, he did, did he?   
  
“No, you may not. And we’ll talk about Marcus when I’m done.”   
  
“I’m leaving now, Mom. My ride will be here in five.”   
  
The last hopes of relaxation slipped down the drain as she pushed the lever down with her foot, the clank of the drain mechanism like the final nail in the coffin.    
  
“I’m getting out, give me a second,” she shouted back through the door as she stood up on tired feet and grabbed the fluffy white towel waiting for her. While she trusted her daughter, Marcus was another story.   
  
“It’s fine. I don’t need the shoes,” the voice started to retreat out of the room, obviously trying to avoid any further discussion.    
  
Veronica had the door open in a split second as she wrapped the towel around her. “Stop.”   
  
Layla turned back around at the door to the bedroom, eyes rolling and brunette head flipping back, Veronica’s own eyes reflecting back at her. “What?”   
  
Veronica eyed her daughter’s outfit to determine her next move, satisfied with the modest neck and hemline, deciding to give the teenager a break. She smiled, “Be home by two.”   
  
Layla grinned and tried her luck further, “And the shoes?”   
  
“Absolutely not.”    
  
Layla held her hands up in defeat and left the room as Archie entered, kissing her father on the cheek. “Be home by twelve, baby,” he said.   
  
“Mom already said two, Daddy.”   
  
“Hey! Now it’s one, young lady! Don’t you manipulate us. We ARE smarter than you.” Veronica’s voice carried down the hall at her retreating daughter’s back. She tucked the corner of her towel under her arm and brushed damp tendrils that had escaped her bun back behind her ears. “Damn it, Archie. I didn’t get 10 minutes.”   
  
“I’m sorry, it’s like wrangling circus animals,” he apologized, meeting her across the room and pulling her into him. He perched his head on top of hers as he wrapped his arms around her, “I really did try,” he apologized.   
  
“You owe me. I don’t know how yet, but you owe me,” she mumbled into his t-shirt.    
  
“I can think of some things,” he chuckled into her hair. “I was waiting to tell you, but my dad agreed to come watch the kids next weekend. And I checked with your assistant who’s clearing your schedule,” his hands came up to her neck to extend her head back, smiling down at her, “So that you...” he kissed her sweetly on the cheek, “and I...” on the other cheek, “can get away to the Hamptons.”    
  
“Archie, I have so much to do...” he silenced her protest with his lips forcibly on hers.   
  
“No, we’re going. It’s all worked out.”   
  
She scrunched her eyebrows together at him, sighing, trying not to think about how backed up she’d get after a weekend away.   
  
“Mommy! You’re done!” Sonya appeared, running into the room, leg of her stuffed hippo clutched in her hand, dragging the poor thing behind her. The three year old wrapped herself around Veronica’s legs, beaming up at her with the same face that was looking down on her seconds ago, her red hair in pigtails, too-big footsie pajamas twisted around her feet.   
  
“Guess what, Mommy? Mr. Hippo drew you a picture!”    
  
“Tell Mommy where he drew it,” Archie asked her, trying not to smile and failing.    
  
“On the wall!”   
  
Veronica looked back at Archie blankly. “This one looks like you, so you take care of it.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one gave me a tooth ache.


	7. Psycho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by @palemakerpieperson on Tumblr.

There’s a scratching noise. It’s faint without a pattern, almost absentminded in its persistence. It sounds like a tree branch against the side of the building swaying in the wind, and Veronica dismisses it as such, attention back on the laptop screen next to her on the bed, home alone and Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho playing, because Jughead made a reference today that she couldn’t quite recall and a rewatch was high on her list of things to do to avoid that again in the future.

 

Then there’s a scraping noise, which doesn’t seem to be coming from the same direction as the scratching, and it’s more persistent and changing and seems more like a man made noise. So she’s reassessing the first noise now, and that doesn’t sound the same as it did 5 minutes ago, the hairs on arm standing on end, as the _crrreeeeeeckkks_ resonate in her ears.

 

She pauses the movie, stops chewing the carrot stick in her mouth and really listens.She can identify the slight hum of the HVAC, the refrigerator, her heartbeat in her ears, but the other noises are not making sense and she feels her pulse quickening as she swallows.

 

Her parents left hours ago and Andre told her twenty minutes ago he was leaving to go pick them up, to call him if she needed, but she can’t think straight with her sudden intense fear running rampant up and down her spine and her finger is hovering over Archie’s name on her contact list, her phone clutched in her hand now like a weapon. As it rings she’s slowly and quietly slipping out from under the covers, bare feet padding across the carpeted floor to her walk-in closet, the walls of which she hopes will muffle her voice further.

 

“Hi!” He answers on the fourth ring, his voice seems ridiculously loud in her ear and it make her jump. “I thought you were watching your movie.”

 

“Archie?” She whispers, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt she’s wearing, “I need you.”

 

“You want to go again? Two times in one day? I’m a lucky guy.” He’s chuckling to himself and she’d smack him if he were her in front of her.

 

“Archie, I think someone is in the penthouse,” she whispers quickly. Her voice isn’t steady, and she’s trying unsuccessfully to remember if her bedroom door is locked.

 

“What? Where’s Andre?”

 

“He left to pick up my parents.” Her whisper is a bit more desperate now and she’s trying so hard to listen to the noises in her own home over the extra noise in her ear now as she searches the closet for some sort of defensive item. “Archie, I hear someone.”

 

“Okay, I’m coming,” he’s now whispering too for some reason and she can hear him shuffling around and drawers opening and closing quickly on his end. “Where are you? Can you hide? Do you have any weapons?” His questions are rapid fire and the urgency in his voice is rising.

 

“I’m in my closet. There’s only hangers and stilettos in here,” she responds, eyeing a pair she wouldn’t mind stabbing someone through the eye with and grips one in her free hand.

 

“Stay there. Don’t move,” he’s saying quietly in her ear, and she can hear his truck starting and peeling out into the road.

 

“Don’t speed, be careful,” she’s whispering back urgently to him, afraid for him now too, because ofcourse he’s going to drive like a maniac to get to her.

 

It only takes four minutes, the longest four minutes of her life, for him to get to her street, another 90 seconds to park around the corner and run to the back of the building. He’s breathing heavy into the phone.

 

“I’m coming up the back steps. Do you think the servants quarters are unlocked?”

 

“They always are for you,” she’s mumbling quietly, now listening just as hard at what’s happening to him on the other line. Her knuckles are white with her grip on her shoe, and she’s shifting her weight back and forth on her bare feet, ready to react if she needs to.

 

“We’re going to change that. I’m putting the phone in my pocket, but don’t disconnect.”

 

She can hear the door handle click when he turns it, but then it’s only the sound of fabric brushing against his phone in his pocket coming through the speaker.

 

She stands corrected, this is the longest four minutes of her life, when she hears nothing, nothing at all but the beating of her own heart in her ear, and she can only assume he’s searching her home.

 

She hears her bedroom door opening and her chest is in her throat, for surely he’d be announcing himself if it was him? Her mind suddenly starts imagining him in an altercation with the intruder and he’s lying on the floor bleeding somewhere now and the stranger is coming for her finally and she better be ready to plunge this heel deep into his brain....

 

But then she hears his sweet voice, her name on his lips as he’s quietly knocking on her closet door, and she wants to throw it open for him, but she’s still too afraid to make any noise. So he’s the one opening it slowly, and as the top of his red head pops into view, she’s exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her back collapsing into the opposite wall, and she’s never been so happy to see his eyes.

 

“Ronnie, there’s nobody here.” He’s got his baseball bat clutched in one hand and he’s reaching out for her, pushing the stiletto out of her hand and pulling her into him.

 

He feels warm and safe and solid against him, and she feels stupid, stupid, and stupid.

 

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I thought I heard noises,” she’s up on her tiptoes with her arms wrapped around his shoulders, hiding her blushing ashamed face.

 

“I don’t mind. I don’t want you ever to be scared, even if it means I need to come running for fake intruders,” he replies, grinning into the top of her head, leaning his baseball bat up against the wall so he can get his arms all the way around her. “I’ll fight the ghosts for you, Ronnie.”

 

She laughs, pulling back to stare up at him, and is suddenly very aware of her current state of attire as he gazes down at her- clad only in one of his t-shirts, her hair up in a ponytail, her face bare- and catches the moment he notices too with a look of surprise across his face.

 

“Is this what you wear when I’m not around?” He’s grinning, pulling at the shirt. “How come I never get to see you like this?”

 

She looks down at herself, confused. “You want to see me like this? Wouldn’t you prefer the lace and satin?”

 

“All that is amazing too, but I really, really like how my shirt looks on you,” he replies, hunger coming into his eyes as they trail down her body.

 

She allows him to pull her up against him, brushing his mouth across hers for a minute as his fingers tangle up in her ponytail, before she pulls back slightly from the tiny sparks between their lips. “Alright, Archiekins. Next time you save me from the shadows, I’ll be sure to have your shirt on again.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requests currently closed so I can focus on the current list I have and get to work on my multichapter. Thanks for reading!!


	8. Dance Instruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica teaches Archie to dance. Prompt by @palemakerpieperson

“One...two...three...one...two...three,” she kept counting, reassuring him with a smile, despite him stepping on her toes every other count. She had put sneakers on after the second time he’d done it, but now with their height difference sans-heels, she was having a harder time guiding him through the steps.

 

Veronica grimaced as her toes were squished once again, stopping to shake her foot, and he sighed out loud.

 

“Ronnie, I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” Archie said grumpily, dropping her hand from his and removing his other one from her waist. “Can’t we just slow dance like everyone else does?”

 

“Nonsense, Archiekins. We are not everyone else. And you’re almost there!” She put her hands on her hips as she continued, “You have the tempo, it’s just remembering to shift your weight appropriately and using your hands to guide me.”

 

Despite how pessimistic he was about all this _learning-to-dance_ business, he was going to keep trying for her. This little angelic vixen beaming up at him, still in her blouse and skirt from school with her cheerleading sneakers on and her hair piled on top of her head, giving her an _I mean business_ look that put a little smile on his face.

 

“Okay, we can keep going. Show me again.”

 

She tried a different approach this time, standing next to him mimicking exactly what he showed do with each foot, and when it seemed like he finally had it, she flipped around to face him to do her part, too.

 

“One....two...three...one...two...three... that’s perfect, you’re getting it!” She said excitedly, moving in closer to him getting back into position.

 

He was smiling now, a sight that always warmed her heart in any circumstance, as he placed his right hand back on her waist, and she was so glad he was going to share her day with her. Her Confirmation meant everything to her family and to be able to take a formal spin on the dance floor with her love would be a cherry on top of the day.

 

He stopped then and pulled her in closer, grinning down at her as he lifted her up and began swinging her around the space they had cleared out in the sitting room at the Pembroke.

 

“I knew you could do it!” She laughed at him. “But we still have more to work on,” she added as he set her down.

 

He frowned before replying, “More?”

 

She pushed back from him a little to reset their stance. “Yes, now that you have the steps, we have to start moving around the room. Use the same pattern but move in all the space.”

 

He looked a little afraid, doubt sweeping across his face again, and they reset. It was the longest thirty minutes of his life,and the bruises on his lower legs from the number of times he nudged the coffee table would remind him of it for a week. But Veronica was finally satisfied with his progress for the day, and let him relax on the couch, head falling back and spreading his limbs out, which is how she found him when she returned from her room. She had changed into her _lounge wear_ as she called it, which to him still looked pretty fancy, now clad in a tight pair of black jeans and a gray sweater that had some sort of metallic thread in it.

 

“Okay, as your reward, we can watch whatever you want,” she told him, curling up next to him on the couch and kissing his cheek. She had left her hair up, something she had been doing more of recently when it was just the two them since he had off-handedly mentioned how sexy her neck was last month.

 

“But I must insist that we order in from Davina’s, because I’m absolutely dying for mushroom risotto.”

 

He laughed, head still stretched out on the back of the couch as she reached for her phone. “That’s fine,” he told her, watching as her fingers tapped across her screen. Their usual order was saved in the delivery app and she had it completed within seconds.

 

“So what’ll it be, Archiekins? HBO? Netflix? Dare I say, something terrible on Starz?”

 

“YouTube videos on how to do the waltz?” he joked, but immediately regretted it when he caught the look that came over her face at his words.

 

She tucked her clenched hands under her chin and gave him that look. The look that often had him metaphorically and sometimes literally on his knees for her. He groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead, as she giggled.

 

When the food arrived later, they were deep into the YouTube world of dance instruction on Veronica’s phone, propped up on the coffee table, and he had to admit that it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. “What type of dance is that? Could we try that?” He asked her, watching a woman sling her leg around her partner’s waist as he dragged them both backward across the floor.

 

“Tango. Obviously much different from the waltz, and not at all appropriate for my Confirmation party,” she told him as she took another bite of her dinner. She added with a hand on his shoulder, “but I’ll keep your interest in mind for the next occasion that calls for something a bit spicier. Perhaps we could take some classes?”

 

He kept watching, mesmerized, as the woman straddled her partner’s thigh and dragged her body down his leg to the floor, imagining the same kind of skimpy, shimmery dress on his girl, draping _her_ body on _him_ like that. Her leg would be hitched up on his hip as his hand skimmed up her thigh, her lips against the side of his face as he spun them around. “Maybe.”

 

 

 


	9. Cold Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Death and bereavement

 

 

 

 

 

The wooden pew feels too hard and too cold beneath her. She’s alternating between gripping the edge with both hands and smoothing out her skirt. She knows monsignor is talking now, but the words aren’t registering in her brain. Instead, she hears every creek of the benches, every throat-clearing in the group, every sniffle from her aunts in front of her.

 

The smell of incense is strong as she watches Monsignor swing the brass censer over and over across the coffin, but it’s fleeting and all at once clears from the air. She’s numb now, having cried all her tears over the last few days, tears she usually saves for her beloved, but her anguish for him had shifted when her mother sat her down to tell her Abulita had passed.

 

She wants him next to her, wants his large hand clutching hers, needs his strong arms around her more today than any other day since he’s gone away. His warmth radiating from his chest, his voice in her ear, his fingers brushing her arm, she just needs one, just one of these to cope. Instead she had a few minutes of his rushed words coming from the telephone receiver, words she wished she could remember better, but she was sobbing after she told him and she can only remember a few. _I’m so sorry, Ronnie. I wish I could hold you right now. I love you._

 

Her aunts are standing in front of her now, the pews beginning to empty as they follow her Abulita’s body back down the aisle. She’s on autopilot as she too joins the line, the faces she passes in the rows in the back a blur. The next few minutes pass quickly, the pallbearers lifting the coffin into the back of the long black, unmistakably shaped car, and her being ushered into one of the small black cars behind it. Her Aunt Rosalind and two of her younger cousins are in this car, and she’s thankful nobody tries to strike up a conversation. The drive to the cemetery is short and the cold air greets her harshly when she steps back out into it.

 

She’s following a line of people up a small hill, trying to walk discretely between the grave stones and not disturb the manicured grass in front of each. The ground actually feels extra dense beneath her boots and she wonders if it’s her imagination picturing all the remains gathered here. The wind is whipping her hair around, untamable with its insistence so she doesn’t try to push it back over her ears. She somehow finds herself standing behind her seated mother, the image of the coffin now startling as she notices it next to the hole in the ground.

 

Two of her aunts are weeping something fierce, hunched over, but her mothers head is held high, though she can’t see her face to tell her emotional state beyond that. Her hands keep clenching and unclenching and she just wants Archie’s to fill in the spaces between her fingers. She tries to envision him standing there next to her tall and strong, and it helps for a moment, but then Monsignor starts talking again and she loses the vision.

 

It’s later, after Abulita is in the ground, after the small reception is over, after she’s home and alone in her room, the walls around her comforting and protective from the chill outside, that the tears come again. She’s unsure who’s she’s crying for this time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Christmas Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All my Riverdale Reindeer Game drabbles from Tumblr in one place.

 

 

 

 

There’s something simply lovely about burrowing deeply into a down comforter in a king sized bed, large pillows creating a little piece of tranquility to block out the harsh world. Veronica tucks the blankets in around her neck as she curls up in the fetal position, not yet ready to face the sunshine coming through the windows. Archie was out of bed when the sun woke up, and their dog joined her to lay on the foot of the bed a little while ago, but she’s ready to keep making this Sunday morning a lazy one.

 

“Good Morning, Ronnie.”

 

Not quite ready to give into the disturbance in her snoozing, she peaks one eye open, the one not smushed into a pillow, to stare at him standing there next to the bed. He’s never woken her up early on a Sunday before, content to let her roll around in their big bed while he catches up on other things, and the sheepish grin on his face gets her thoughts running and her head lifting.

 

“You did something bad, I can feel it.” She shifts up to her elbows to properly stare him down.

 

He hides his hands behind his back to stop from fidgeting. “No, not something bad. Just maybe something a little over the top.”

 

She falls back into her pillow kingdom with a sigh. If it’s anything like the garden gnome disaster of last spring, she deserves a few more minutes of peace.

 

“Come look?”

 

“Right now?”

 

“Please?” He sounds excited instead of apologetic, so she’s hoping it’s not a complete disaster, whatever it is. Throwing the comforter back, she shifts to sit on the side of the bed, watching as her faithful pup gets up and rushes to grab her slippers, delivering first one than the other to her, something Archie spent weeks teaching him so that Veronica didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t really want dog slobber on her soft fur booties. With a pat on the head to the dog, she slips them on and stands up, preparing herself.

 

Archie steps back and gestures for her to exit the bedroom in front of him, earning him an eye roll.

 

“Oh, this better be good.”

 

She doesn’t know where she should be going, but assumingely proceeds to the main living space, the dog hurrying out in front of her down the hall.

 

Archie covers her eyes with his hands before she gets to the end, causing her to abruptly stop and reach up with her own to steady herself.

 

“Really?”

 

He laughs in her ear, pushes one of her legs forward with his to keep her moving while she keeps her hands around his wrists.

 

“Stop. Turn.” She lets him guide her where he wants her, his chest coming up to meet her back before his hands pull away from her face and descend to her waist, curling around her as he says, “Ta-Da!”

 

She blinks a few times, disoriented and disbelieving.

 

“Since we can’t have a real one in the building, I thought twelve fake ones would be a good substitute.”

 

Twelve, then. Because at first she wasn’t sure how many trees were currently in their living room, lining the walls like statutes, fitting into every available space, and dwarfing the furniture. There are cardboard boxes everywhere, packing papers strewn across the hardwood floor and all over the couches, and she watches as the dog tramples over a pile of them, spinning around twice before settling himself down into the mess.

 

“I’m going back to bed.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

—————

 

 

“Did you seriously buy a Santa suit, Ronnie?” Archie’s coffee mug is paused half way to his mouth when a red blob appears out of the corner of his vision accompanied by the staccato of heels. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, innocently scrolling through the news on his iPad when dark hair peaks around the approaching monstrosity.

 

“Archiekins,” she starts in a tone he knows very well, still holding up the yards of red velvet fabric in front of her like a prized fur, “This if for your godson’s Christmas! Think of how excited he’s going to be when Santa walks in!”

 

“Wait, you want me to wear that?” Archie’s expression falls even further. “I’m thinking of Jughead’s face when I walk in wearing that.”

 

“Don’t be silly. He’ll be staring at the delight on his child’s face.” She lays the offensive outfit out on the table in front of him, the redness now mocking him, and comes over to kiss his cheek, sneaking an arm around his neck.

 

“You obviously don’t know Jughead at all,” Archie replies, finally putting his coffee mug down and winding his arm around her. She’s beaming down at him with the look that often accompanies that Archiekins voice when she’s trying to talk him into something, her eyes dancing with delight. He sighs, giving in easily. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”

 

She makes a small pleased noise in her throat and grabs his face this time with both hands when she kisses him on the cheek, allowing him to breathe in the scent of her perfume and put his mind in a hypnotizing warm and happy place. “I may have also bought something for a little later once Santa is done entertaining small children, and Mrs. Claus can reward him for being such a good sport.”

 

He tightens the hand on her tiny waist as he looks up at her, the innocent smile staring down at him now in contrast to the devilish one growing on his own. She starts to slip away from him, backing up with wide eyes, before he gets up and grabs her around the middle. She’s laughing as he lifts her up and over his shoulder, the sound better than any song he could ever write.

 

“Santa may need an earlier reward,” he says playfully as he carries her down the hall to their bedroom, her heels dropping off her feet with dual clunks to the floor. “It’s Christmas for him too, after all.”

 

 

 

——————

 

 

 

“Archie, you know I’m not that tall. I can’t reach the top of the Christmas tree without help.”

 

He held back a smirk at the sight of his love, hands on her hips in frustration standing in the doorway of his home studio. He was punishing her for “going over-board” buying decorations for the house, after which they got into a little spat. She refused to ask him for help and he refused to offer until he had heard her frustrated grunts and sighs from the living room after several hours, followed by slightly dramatic stomping on her way to talk to him.

 

“Oh? You need help? Why didn’t you ask before?” He likes that he wasn’t the first one to give in, a smirk on his face when he sees her roll her eyes.

 

She has his t-shirt on and black leggings, which he knows are for “serious house work” only. “Please help me,” she asks with squinting eyes as she turns on her heel and disappears.

 

He gets up to follow down the hallway, and when he turns into the living room has to stop in shock. He turns around and looks behind him towards the kitchen before facing the living room again asking, “Do we live in Pottery Barn now? Ronnie, this is incredible.”

 

There are Christmas candles everywhere, with little gold and silver statues of reindeer and tiny sparkling trees in clusters throughout the room. The tree, which this morning just looked like a boring 7 foot out of place guest in the room, is twinkling with clear lights, nearly every inch of green space taken up by a bulb, or ribbon, or feather decoration, and the effect is staggeringly beautiful.

 

He stares at his wife shock. “You did all of this in 3 hours?”

 

“You like it? I thought you said it would all be too much?” She’s standing by the window with giant feathers in her hand, a hopeful look on her face that makes him realize that maybe he really had been too hard on her before.

 

“It’s really beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t agree with you before.”

 

She smiles and her eyes are shining a little bit with the reflection of the lights when she says, “Can you hold the ladder? I just need a few minutes to do the top.”

 

He pinches her behind a few times while she’s on the ladder and she swats him in the head playfully a bunch, but after she’s decided it’s just right, she steps down and they both step back to admire the work.

 

They smile at one another before she says, “I knew I was right.”

 

 

 

————

 

 

 

“Would you look at all this beautiful snow?” Betty’s cheeks are pink from the cold, and probably also the alcohol they’d both consumed at dinner, a bottle of Rioja split between them with enough of a kick to have Betty suggesting a walk in Central Park despite the chill. The alcohol makes Veronica agree despite her heels.

 

They keep to the plowed side walks arm in arm, with idle chit chat about work and friends, when Betty gets hit in the side and stumbles.

 

“What the hell was that?” Veronica asks as Betty turns around, showing her plastered snow on her peacoat.

 

A “Hey, neighbors!” has them turning towards the likely offender of said snow attack. Two attractive young gentlemen are a couple yards away, both in warm caps with red and black hair peaking out from beneath, respectively.

 

“Archibald, that’s not nice,” Veronica scolds, helping Betty brush the snow off with her mitten clad hands.

 

“I didn’t throw it. Jug did,” Archie shrugs, but smiles despite his excuse.

 

Betty bends down quickly to create a snowball of her own, too quick for Jughead who reacts to do the same, before she’s sprinting at him and laughing before landing one in the center of his chest.

 

“B! Don’t give in to their juvenile nonsense!” Veronica yells to her, watching incredulously as Betty dodges Jughead’s next attack.

 

Watching the pair flirt, Veronica completely misses Archie walking up to her until he’s within arms reach, staring at her mischievously.

 

“Hi, Ronnie.”

 

She steps back, putting her finger out in front of her. “Don’t you dare! Look at my footwear! I’m not playing!”

 

He glances down to stare at her heeled knee-high boots, debating his next move, before he steps in closer to her.

 

His cheeks are red and his smell is intoxicating when he steps into her personal space, has been every time she runs into him in the hallway, continuing this weird dance they’ve been doing around one another for weeks now. Flirty comments and looks that haven’t gone anywhere, but always make her heart beat quicken.

 

She misses that his hands have been around his back the whole time, or notices but is still surprised when he brings one slowly up above her head. She incorrectly looks up to follow his movements when he crushes the snowball in his hand and snow falls into her face before she’s able to tuck her head into his chest, squealing.

 

He’s worried for a second that she’s actually mad when she pulls away to brush it off her face, but then she’s smiling at him and he’s stupidly grinning back at her. He wants to do something dumb like kiss her as she beams up at him, but suddenly he too is hit blindly from behind as Jughead and Betty turn their assault on their friends, interrupting the moment.

 

Another one zooms over his shoulder, narrowly missing Veronica and completely breaking their spell. He turns towards their attackers as she ducks behind him. “Save me, Archiekins!”

 

 

 

————

 

 

 

“Why is the Christmas tree barking and whining?”

 

 _Shit_.

 

“Archie?”

 

“I did something bad,” he replies in a whisper, seated next to her on the couch.

 

“Santa got us a puppy!” A little voice is squealing so loudly that Veronica winces. Their little girl searches around the tree to find the box all the noise is coming from, tripping over her footed pajamas and the remains of presents already opened before spying a large one in the back and proceeding to rip off the top while simultaneously jumping up and down. Veronica watches, with slight horror in her eyes, as their daughter lifts a whimpering yellow lab puppy out of the box into her squeezing arms.

 

She’s running over to the couch, jumping in between her parents while the poor dog gets jostled around, a big red ribbon around its neck rivaling the small dog’s size. “Mama, look! I got exactly what I asked Santa for!”

 

Veronica is glaring at him over the child’s head and he’s frozen, resisting the urge to reach out to the pet the dog, too. “Yes, Archie. Something very bad.”

 

......

 

“Can I please have a turn with the dog now?” He pleads.

 

Veronica has had the newest addition to their family perched on her lap for the duration of their daughter’s afternoon nap, the little thing curled up in her robe keeping her legs warm.

 

“Nope.”

 

 

 

———

 

 

 

“Kevin’s secret santa had a strict twenty dollar budget, Ron.” Archie’s staring at the gifts on the table, bewildered by the wrapping which looks like it cost at least double that all on its own.

 

Veronica finishes tying the big gold bow on the last wrapped box before replying, “Technically I’m gifting for two, so these are from me and the baby.”

 

“I think that’s cheating,” he teases, watching her blouse stretch across her swollen belly as she gathers up the remaining stray ribbons and paper. The sight makes his heart dance and the perpetual smile on his face widen just a bit more.

 

“Nobody is going to disagree with a pregnant woman, Archiekins,” she almost sings her response to him as she glides out of the room.

 

He can’t help but agree.

 

 

 

———

 

 

 

"Ronnie, you haven't even finished your Christmas list."

 

“Oh, Archiekins. All I want for Christmas is you!"

 

He stares at her for a second before he realizes what’s she said. “No, don’t. I’m so sick of that.....”

 

“ALEXA, play All I Want for Christmas is You!”

 

“Ronnie!”

 

 

 

————

 

 

 

“Archiekins, if you keep eating all the ones out of the oven, there won’t be any to decorate!” Her hands are on her apron covered hips as she glares at her boyfriend, whose brushing the crumbs from his sweater sheepishly.

 

“I have to make sure it’s a good batch,” he responds, mouth full.

 

She throws the oven mitt at him as he steals another off the hot cookie sheet. “It’s all the same batch!”

 

“Smells good in here! What are you kids up to?” Fred asks as he enters the kitchen, zeroing in on the cookies on the stovetop cooling.

 

Before she can reply, he, too, plucks one from the tray and shoves it in his mouth. “These are great, Veronica,” he adds after a few chews.

 

She holds her tongue as Archie laughs.

 

 

 

———

 

 

 

He’s been in his home studio for hours now with the worst case of song writer’s block he’s had in a while. December tended to be one of his more prolific months, with all the inspiration seemingly just floating out there in the cold air, but this year his muse had left him high and dry.

 

He had come in here after breakfast, paused to eat a sandwich his wife brought him at lunch time, dropped off with a glass of water and a kiss on his forehead. But since then, he had just been strumming chords absentmindedly on his guitar without much direction while reclining on the leather couch. A few times he thought he was getting somewhere, it turned out he was just playing the intro to a Fleetwood Mac song.

 

“Hey there, music man.”

 

Archie turns his head to spy said sandwich maker standing in the doorway, clad in a short silky red robe tied closed around the waist. While a silky robe itself wouldn’t be unusual for his wife to be lounging around it, it’s the sky high stilettos adorning her tiny feet that give him pause.

 

“Whatcha wearing, gorgeous?” The corner of his mouth is turned up in amusement, head still twisted back over his shoulder in her direction as he continues stroking the strings of the guitar in his lap.

 

She leans up against the doorframe, crossing her ankles, one hand on her hip. The look on her face says everything, but she answers anyway. “I figured you might need a break. Thought I could give you your present early.” Her free hand is at the belt of her robe slowly loosening the knot as she waits for a reaction.

 

His eyes darken dangerously as he watches her hand, sitting up to prop the guitar on the side of the couch to follow the action. “I love presents.”

 

That makes her laugh. “Of course you do.”

 

She starts walking towards him before the belt is undone, so that by the time it is, she’s almost within arms reach. As it flutters open, his eyes just about roll back into his head with the sight underneath, red lace bra and matching panties, red silk bows tied at the sides, and he somehow missed the stockings on her legs before, the garter an added treat with matching little bow hooks. He’s gone completely stupid in the head as his jaw drops open, and she lifts a finger to close his mouth.

 

“Red is my new favorite color,” she purrs to him. “I think you agree?”

 

He reaches out to grasp her waist and bring her standing between his knees, resting his forehead and nose against her bare stomach before his lips meet her skin. His fingers start dancing across all the lace he can reach as his pants get uncomfortable tight and her fingers find their way into his hair.

 

“Best Christmas gift ever, Ronnie,” he mumbles into her side.

 

 

 

——————

 

 

 

“You have pine needles in your hair and glitter all over.”

 

Archie shrugs his shoulders sheepishly at Jughead, brushing his hands through his hair, but then slaps his beanie wearing friend on the back. “It’s not what it looks like.”

 

“It looks like you got into a fight with a Christmas tree,” Jughead replies, plopping a piece of cheese in his mouth from the plate of appetizers in his hand.

 

“Oh, then it’s exactly what it looks like,” Archie grins, straightening his shirt and looking around the room at the rest of the guests.

 

“What did you think I meant?” Jughead presses, leaning over to grab a grape off the table and load more food onto his plate. “And how did you get into a fight with a tree in the last twenty minutes?” He gestures towards the one dominating the room, Cheryl and Toni’s giant monstrosity in the corner that they had all spent the first ten minutes of the party admiring, followed by another in the kitchen, and a third in the hallway. “It’s not Christmas without pine!” Cheryl had explained.

 

Jughead watches Archie shrug before he heads over to the table with the drinks to get some more eggnog.

 

Veronica suddenly appears next to Jughead’s elbow, sneaking up on him enough that he startles. “How’s the food?”

 

He eyes her suspiciously when she turns and he notices a pine needle stuck in her hair. Reaching over to pull it out, he holds it in front of her face, watching as her eyes go a little wide before she takes it from him, and catches herself. “Whoops! How’d that get there? Thanks!”

 

“I see Archie couldn’t handle fighting the tree alone.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Writing Challenge #1: New Year’s Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Riverdale Writing Challenge Prompt Jan 1  
> “I’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day.”

It’s barely light outside. Her body is telling her it’s too early to wake up, too few hours of sleep, but she’s sure she’ll hear about it from her mother later if the newlyweds don’t make an appearance at breakfast.

 

There’s a combination of soft and scratchy against her face, and she realizes that she probably didn’t take her veil off before falling asleep last night. She couldn’t wait to get rid of it after the ceremony on their way from the church to the reception, the crystals on the edge snagging everything all morning during pictures. But right after Archie put her down across the threshold of their hotel suite at the end of the festivities last night, she was stumbling as fast as her dress would allow across the room to put the huge thing back on. She spent the remainder of the evening sans any other clothing, making memories in the soft sheets.

 

There’s a warm chest under her head, and her new husband is quietly breathing, still asleep, the gentle whoosh of his breath like a steady calming wave lapping at a shoreline. She uses the quiet moment to take in the disarray of the bedroom, what she can see with the soft light through the sheer curtains. There are two empty champagne bottles on the desk, a third unopened, her _Happy_ _New_ _Year_ feathered tiara and his glittered top hat askew next to them. She can see the top of blush colored tulle near the foot of the bed, remembering she left her dress in a heap on the floor.

 

The day had passed so quickly. All this build up of planning over the last year and suddenly it was here, she was walking down the aisle towards him in the church. She remembers seeing her Abuelita smiling at her from the first few pews, Fred tearing up in the front row, but mostly she sees Archie’s face, his wet eyes, his brilliant smile.

 

Suddenly the Monseigneur was telling him to kiss his bride and the crowd is clapping and hollering, and then she’s in the limo, his hands are sneaking under her dress as she laughs and tries not to smudge her lipstick too much.

 

The band played all night, the dance floor packed. The flowers were fragrant and the cake was amazing, and she didn’t get to eat a thing. All these small moments keep flashing in her mind like memories from a dream she never wants to wake up from.

 

Her husband sighs and rolls over a bit in his sleep to curl into her more. She can’t believe it’s over, but it’s a bitter sweet feeling no longer having to worry about the details, or what’s right or wrong, whether they’re deviating from the timeline, or who should wrangle the flower girls. She can focus on their life again. It’s been two years since she passed the bar exam and started working at a law firm, one step closer to opening up her own. Archie has been teaching and writing music, making a bit of a name for himself in the city. Their tiny, but perfect little Brooklyn apartment is just a few blocks from Betty and Jughead’s, the NYC dream upon them all.

 

She spends weekend afternoons in the park with her lover, weekday evenings in coffee shops with Betty discussing her articles over lattes or roaming museum halls with Jughead arguing about Impressionism. Sometimes they go back to Riverdale to visit Fred or Hermione, the latter of which decided to make it her forever home after her husband was finally put away for good. But they like to stay in the city when they can, in their little slice of heaven.

 

Her phone is lighting up silently on the side table, but she makes no motion to check it. For now she’s content to just lay in this bed as her husband wakes up and draw out this feeling as long as she can. Contentment. Relaxation. Bliss.

 

She studies his face, the crinkle lines across his forehead and the new soft laugh lines that have started to appear the last couple of years. He’s lost any lingering hint of boyhood from his face. His jawline never fails to put a tingle in her fingers, calling to her to reach out and trace down the edge. Her gentle touch pulls him from whatever light sleep stage he was in and he smiles at the familiar caress.

 

“Good morning, wife,” he says softly when he opens his eyes, keeping the cocoon of quiet intimacy around them in a little bubble.

 

“Good morning, husband,” she replies in a similar breathy tone, turning her chin up closer to him.

 

He meets her half way, his soft lips against hers in a slightly pouty wet kiss that she wants to go on forever. But he pulls away, far enough to mumble against her mouth, “Happy New Year,” before rolling them over, resting his weight on top of her and switching their previous positions entirely. He tucks his head down onto her chest, his favorite place to rest, pulling the sheets up a round them. “Was it everything you dreamed of?”

 

She drags her fingers through his hair, nails against his scalp as he settles in between in her legs. The moments flash through her mind again like a kaleidoscope, smiling and laughing faces, toasts and dance moves, confetti and kisses at midnight. “Everything was perfect,” she replies. “It just went by too fast.”

 

She can feel him grinning against her chest before he speaks, his breath hot on her skin. “We can do it again next New Year.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Babies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highly requested follow up to the pregnancy drabble.

 

 

 

No one should ever be pregnant in New York City in July.    
  
  


And definitely not with twins. Because she feels like a ranch style house, wider than she is tall. A house that’s been built in Hades, because she _can’t_ _cool_ _off_.    
  
  


She’s never been so uncomfortable in her whole short life. The babies are cramped up inside her like a Matryoshka doll, unwilling to allow her the room to breathe normally, kicking straight into her organs, and she swears they’re purposely stepping on her bladder at all hours of the night. Archie had found her crying on the toilet the night before. Crying because she never stops having to pee.    
  
  


There’s a heat wave, _ of course _ , with temperatures in the high 90s for a week and stagnant putrid city air outside the window, and there’s only so much the air conditioning can do running full blast all the time. She stands in front of the vents sometimes just to be sure they’re actually working, willing the air to become as cold as the freezer is when she ducks her head in there in moments of weakness. Archie is running around endlessly trying to find ways he can help her, bringing her frozen treats, fans, ice packs galore, drawing cool baths, that he almost looks as tired as she feels, and he definitely looks so relieved when she calmly announces on a Tuesday night that her water has broken, standing in a small puddle in the kitchen.   
  
  


The relief is replaced with terror quickly as he shifts into Go Time, running back and forth from the bedroom to the kitchen to the front door to the office, moving things, looking for bags and phones, calling the hospital in a panic, and then their parents, and all the while, Veronica sits calmly on a stool, waiting for him to be ready to go.   
  
  


She assumed she’d be afraid when the time came, but she’s just so ready to get them the hell out, ready to be able to take a deep breath without them in the way, ready to meet her little creations, that the first contraction is welcomed.    
  
  


———-   
  
  


Relief is no longer the word on her mind as the relentless contractions batter her body, her once owe-so-tiny body, a body which seems like it must have done this before, because she certainly isn’t controlling what’s happening and it’s doing it’s own thing trying to squeeze these huge little humans out.   
  
  


Her wails become Archie’s as she nearly breaks his hand, clutching it like a lifeline, and then their babies’ cries quiet them both as they arrive into this world one right after the other abruptly, taking up all the oxygen in the room.   
  
  


They spend so many of the next hours just staring into their little faces, touching the little wrinkles on their hands, feeling their toes, in awe of their children.   
  
  


———   
  
  


They’re each five pounds of warmth and cuddles, curling up in little cannonballs in her lap like their still cocooned inside her, but now out in a very scary world full of things like cars, motorcycles, and contact sports, any and everything that could hurt her tiny sweet boys.    
  
  


Twin boys.   
  
  


Karma, it must be, for all the years of dresses, makeup, parties, perfume, jewelry, and designer attire. Because it’s so very un-Veronica Lodge like.   
  
  


Archie can’t stop smiling. She’s asked him twice already today if his face hurt. Still stuck in the hospital two days after giving birth, An extra day for an extra baby! the nurse had explained, Veronica was chomping at the bit to go home early yesterday. She wanted her bed and her bathroom, and she’d been dreaming about laying her boys down in their cribs for months now. Not to mention Archie’s mom was coming to stay with them for a week, which meant she could maybe get more than 2 hours of consecutive sleep at a time. The hospital never slept.   
  
  


“What can I get you to eat for lunch, Mommy?” He’s grinning stupidly at her from his place on his cot next to her bed.    
  
  


“I swear to god, Archie, if you keep calling me that....”   
  
  


“What? You’re Mommy now.”   
  
  


“I’m not  _ your _ Mommy.”   
  
  


“I’m doing it for the boys benefit, Ronnie. I don’t want them to be confused.”   
  
  


She rolls her eyes, not finding the strength to argue with him further. “Can you order me a grilled chicken salad from Mel’s, with a side of sweet potato fries.”   
  
  


“Of course.”   
  
  


The blue hatted baby,  _ Freddie, Blue, Baby B, _ raises his little fists in the air, escaping from his blanket with a small yawn, while his green hatted brother,  _ Henry, Green, Baby A,  _ is tucked up all neatly, content to doze the afternoon away, already making their little separate personalities known. It’s too early to know if they’re identical or not, just a wisp of fine brunette hair on both their heads, so she’s relying on their assigned colors, and of course their little hospital bracelets, until she learns them. She’s pretty sure she can tell who’s who by the way they latch on when she feeds them but she’s still much too apprehensive to disregard her little labeling system so soon.    
  
  


———-   
  
  


Two months of sleepless nights. Eight weeks of diapers, spit up, and drool. Fifty-six days of whimpers, tears, and wails.    
  
  


One thousand three hundred and forty four hours of walking around like a zombie at all hours of the day and night because they can’t seem to get on the same schedule.    
  
  


But it’s fifty-six days of soft baby smells. Eight weeks of coos and tiny fists wrapped around fingers. Two months of pure parenthood bliss that warms them up inside that they wouldn’t trade for anything. And on that fifty-sixth night, the boys sleep a solid six hours without interruption. In the morning, Archie and Veronica feel like whole new people again.    
  
  


It’s been the best fifty-six days.    
  
  
  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. The Hellish Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My thoughts on what a sneaking around Varchie might look like during late season 3.

His wet breath is hot against her neck as his hands dig into her hips in the dark, seemingly running everywhere yet nowhere as he restrings her sensory nerves with the guitar-callused skin at his finger tips. This is wrong.

 

This is so wrong.

 

Yet she needs it, breathes it, dreams it, holds it so close inside her that the pressure threatens to burst out her chest like Mentos in a 2-liter of Diet Coke every time she sees him.

 

He’s whispering her name now like a chant as he presses her impossibly harder back into the door, and they’ve only a few minutes left before the bell will be ringing to signal the deluge of the student body into the hallway behind her.

 

But the invasion in the janitors’ closet is a welcomed one, and if he doesn’t stop canting against her in this sick darkness, she’s going to give away their horrible secret, care of the noises deep in her throat.

 

He’s her bitter caffeine. Her restless sleep. Her hazy nicotine. She can’t go on like this much longer, pretending to be nothing more than occasional booth companions at Pop’s, when every time she reaches for the syrup she leans just a little too close, stays just a little too long in his personal space, stealing his air.

 

Stealing it. Craving it. Drowning in it like it’s the precious drops of illumination from the fountain of youth, and she’s ready to bathe. He’s sucked her soul straight past her lips and consumed her, taking up all the space in its absence like hot sunlight in an open field, every centimeter of dusty earth rejoicing in the UV.

 

The bell rings.

 

His lips retreat.

 

His hands drop.

 

He drops a kiss on her cheek before he’s sneaking into the hall and leaving her back in the darkness alone, the void of his light and his air like Novocain.

 

They don’t exist in the light. They aren’t Archie and Veronica out there anymore.

 

No, they’re creatures of the darkness now. Bodies in the closet. Carnal. Heat in heat.

 

It’s not the sweetest kind of torture.

 

It’s the hellish kind.


	14. Champ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt off promo pic for 3x18  
> Requested by @riverdalehasmeconfused on Tumblr

Decades of grime and sweat cover the surfaces of the gym like old paint. The mass of people in suits and plumes of cologne does little to mask the olfactory history settled over the concrete floor.

 

Veronica doesn’t notice.

 

Her eyes magnetize to him and him only as he steps up on the old scale, proclaiming himself in front of the crowd. 

 

She’s proud, oh so very proud. This boy — no, he’s certainly a _man_ now — who’s come back from the darkness that stained his whole world has found something to channel his anger into, working so hard to turn his scars inside out — that inky black plague of the last few months of his life whipped up into something fruitful and promising. It’s _promising_. 

 

She hopes the promises she’s making — co-conspiring in their two worlds together — turn into something as fruitful as all this has for him. Lemons into lemonade. 

 

** Local Kid Turns Tragedy into Triumph.  **

 

** Boxing Gym Smashing Success: Rehabilitation Center for Lost Youths. **

 

_Promising_.

 

But for all that, when it comes right down to it, she can’t not stare and admire the physicality. 

 

He’s _breathtaking_. 

 

The hard lines and smooth valleys she used to know so intimately are even more toned now, so many scars and that brand turned into something more benevolent and astonishing. He’s astonishing. 

 

_Her Archie_.

 

She can feel his returned stare all the way down to the tips of her toes. And when he puts on his show for the crowd, flexing those well earned biceps with the lights bouncing off the thin sheen of sweat on his skin, her insides weep.

 

She can’t help the tip of her chin down, the gasp of her small warm breath over her tingling lower lip. She wants to draw it up between her teeth, worry the stained flesh in relief, but she can’t. She won’t. 

 

She’s strong.

 

She shifts in her heels, clenches her clammy folded hands in front of her, draws her strong shoulders back in professionalism. Not now. Not here. 

 

He’s not hers. 

 

Not now. Not _yet_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at Tuesdayschildd


End file.
